


There's Dust in Our Lungs

by Glass_O_Lemonade



Series: There's Dust in Our Lungs [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Gen, Inspired by Music, Non-Chronological
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_O_Lemonade/pseuds/Glass_O_Lemonade
Summary: From the corner of his eye, Klaus sees Ben approach. He’s no longer covered in blood and guts, an improvement his ghost brother made sometime last week. Despite this, Klaus keeps his gaze forwards. If he looks, there is a chance he will flinch, will grimace, will jerk back... For someone who has seen ghosts all his life, Klaus never expected seeing Ben without Serenity would be so difficult.Chapter One inspired by “White Blood” by Oh Wonder.Chapter Two inspired by "Waste" by Oh Wonder.
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves
Series: There's Dust in Our Lungs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588795
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	There's Dust in Our Lungs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics included are from Oh Wonder’s song, “White Blood.”

Once the bed sheet and comforter fully cover them, Delta shifts from a firefly to a calico cat. Number Four flicks on the flashlight before setting it aside to light their tiny sanctuary. Delta rubs her cheeks and neck against one of his knees in comfort. He gently runs a hand through her soft fur.

"How many?"

Four closes his eyes as he recalls. The bed sheet and comforter only provide them with the illusion of being alone.

"Three."

Delta rests her chin on his knee. Her ears twitch. "Are they..." She frowns when he gives a short nod. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "If I could, I would fight them all." At his daemon's words, sentiments she's shared before, Four feels an all too familiar pressure grip his heart. The sudden want to cry briefly fills him. He blinks it away, not wanting to have wet and blurry eyes in this moment. If it were possible, Delta would willingly bear the weight of his power, would switch places with him in a heartbeat. Neither know how many times they have had this same exchange, how many times they will have it again. Neither child nor daemon care.

"I know," he gives her a small smile. Four attempts to present a look of reassurance and not of pain. Delta knows better. She always does.

Four pats his lap, the only invitation Delta needs. She quickly curls up on top of his crossed legs. Delta emits purrs as he resumes petting her. After a while the ghosts' moans and screams will become mere background noise, but until then Four and Delta keep one another awake. Rarely are they able to engage with each other during the daytime, so neither child nor daemon take this time together for granted.

Number Four's not sure how much time passes as they sit there in mutual silence, but eventually, a look comes over Delta's face. He waits for her to form her thoughts, knows she will share if she wants to.

"Four, I-" she stops, considers whether to continue.

"Delta, I won't laugh," he promises in a hush, sensing her nervousness. His daemon shifts to a small, brown mouse. He offers her the palm of his hand, and she scurries to sit there. Delta's eyes meet his for a second or two, before she looks away.

"Four, do you feel like a boy?"

"Yes," he answers automatically. However, the next thing Four becomes aware of is how heavy his insides feel, how they seem to twist themselves inside him. He shuts his mouth. Runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. Dad's not here. Pogo's not here. Mom's not here. He doesn't need to lie.

"Oh," Delta's sadness is obvious in her voice and it strikes a slash through his heart. He lifts his hand up, brings his daemon closer to him. Four catches her eyes before shaking his head. "Delta, I'm sorry. I do feel like a boy, _sometimes_ ," he stresses. "But Dad..." His father's reaction to Number Seven and Eta immediately comes to mind. He subconsciously grips Delta closer. She meets his eyes, holds his gaze. "Do you not... feel like a," he debates which word to use: girl, lady, woman, female, _something? anything?_ It is one thing to think this, and another to give it voice. As he deliberates, Delta responds first.

"Not always." Worry darkens her expression then. "Are we wrong?" Sir Reginald Hargreeves' voice rings through Number Four's mind. _You will never measure up, Number Seven. You and that daemon are... Wrong. Evil. Disgraces. Abominations._

Number Four swallows once. He doesn’t _feel_ wrong. "Now, when have you ever cared what Dad's said?" He asks with a soft chuckle. It doesn’t sound convincing. Regardless, something seems to do the trick because Delta shifts back to a cat; her fur grows thicker and darkens to a slate gray. Four embraces her in a hug. She rests her head in a crook between his neck and shoulder. “We’re right, Delta. Just the way we are.”

”Promise?”

”Promise.”

_I'm ready to go, I'm ready to go  
Can't do it alone, can't do it alone  
I'm ready to run through the heat of the sun  
Can't do it alone, can't do it alone_

They weave through dancers and make their way to an empty corner behind a curtain of beads. Henrietta, Dave’s golden retriever daemon, and Salem, Klaus’ daemon who settled as a raccoon when he was fourteen, walk alongside one another behind them. “ _Follow me_.” When Dave whispered those words back at the bar, Klaus couldn’t finish his shot fast enough.

Dave parts the curtain for Klaus and their daemons. The beads softly jingle as they fall back into place. The curtain isn't much, offers barely any privacy at all, and yet it's enough. In this moment, it's enough.

Klaus has been high countless times. He knows the feeling intimately. This though? Standing next to Dave in a bar in Vietnam, hand interlocked in his, cheap alcohol on one another's breath, and, for the most blessed of fortunes, not a single ghost in his immediate sight? Not a single specter's wails descending upon his ears? This feeling that washes over him is something new entirely. Klaus has never felt this sort of _light_ while high. If he could, he would bottle it up and store this moment away because this foreign high is better than any drug he knows.

Klaus meets Dave’s gaze, and his breath catches upon seeing genuine affection in Dave’s eyes. Genuine affection directed towards _him_. However, he notices something else, too... apprehension? Why would Dave be...

Dave gently squeezes his hand, swallows down his building nerves. “Klaus, I want you to know...” Henrietta bumps up against Dave, offers him silent encouragement. Dave glances down, shares a moment with his daemon to nonverbally communicate. Klaus turns his head away to provide them a semblance of privacy.

”Klaus,” Dave starts again, this time softer. “I- we,” he nods his head down in Henrietta’s direction, “have lied to you.” Cold dread courses through Klaus’ veins. A dozen scenarios form in his mind. Dave takes a deep breath before he continues. “There's not an easier way to say this, but I care for you, Klaus. We care for you and Salem, and we can't keep lying to you both. Not anymore." Klaus braces himself, bites the inside of his mouth to keep from interrupting, from unintentionally pushing Dave away faster. "Henry isn’t my daemon’s nickname. _Henry is his name._ ”

Klaus mentally rewinds Dave’s revelation, then plays it back. Of everything he feared Dave would say, he never considered this. Echoes of childhood fears sound in the darker corners of his mind as he realizes the weight of Dave's admission.

Dave drops his hand and shoves both of his into his pant pockets. Klaus leaves his arm out, briefly taken aback by the sudden lack of contact. Dave hurriedly looks away. Klaus thinks he sees his eyes glisten. ”I understand if you want to request a different cot, if you can no longer be seen-“

”No.”

Dave’s shoulders sag, and Henri- Henry lets out a whine. Klaus shakes his head, attempts to slow his thoughts down enough to properly get his message across. “I’m not changing beds, Katz.” At the sound of his last name, Dave cautiously glances towards him. Klaus offers him his hand. “I don’t care that your daemon’s gender matches your’s. I have a sister whose daemon is a female nightingale.” Dave takes his hand, lets out an uneven breath. Klaus interlocks their fingers. Salem climbs up his side, to rest atop his shoulder and back. Klaus glances to them, his question evident in his expression. He sees as they nod their consent. “You know,” Klaus looks back to Dave, “Salem’s not a girl either.”

Dave’s eyes seem to double in size at that. “He’s-“

“They.” At the look of confusion across Dave’s face, Klaus mentally adds pronouns to his “List of Future Things” to discuss with the other man at another time. “They, them, theirself.” He gives a shrug with his daemon-free shoulder. “Instead of she, her, he, his.” Dave slowly nods, exhales another shaky breath. He may not fully understand what Klaus just said, but he clearly hears him before then. Relief replaces his fear, his doubt, his worry.

”Should have known you’d surprise me.” When Dave smiles, Klaus thinks he may melt then and there.

Klaus licks his lips, flicks his gaze to Dave’s own enticing lips. “Serves you right for ever underestimating me, Katz.”

Dave steps forward and leans into Klaus’ space. His warm breath blows past the side of Klaus’ face and ear as he says, low, “Remind me not to do so again.”

Klaus turns his head, catches Dave’s mouth with his own. Too soon, far too soon, they will be called back to camp, to guns and ghosts and war and death. Too soon they’ll return to the lies they tell and live to survive. But for now? Dave and Klaus enjoy every second of this moment together.

_I'm ready to fall, so tired of it all  
Down deep in a hole, can't do it alone  
I'm ready to climb this mountain inside  
Impossible heights_

“Hmm, two or four?”

Salem peers over his shoulder; their claws grip his coat, the worn out pleather one they found a few weeks ago. “Two for now. You’ll want the other two later.”

“Want to go halfsies?”

Salem flicks out their tongue at the offer, lifts a front paw to give their chin a quick scratch. With an eager nod from his daemon, Klaus makes swift work of opening the baggie and distributing the pills. Salem crunches their’s then swallows the powder. Klaus reaches for the bottle of- well, he knows it’s some kind of alcohol. He pops the other two pills in his mouth before he takes a swig from the bottle. Salem climbs down from his back and pads around to lie across his legs.

From the corner of his eye, Klaus sees Ben approach. He’s no longer covered in blood and guts, an improvement his ghost brother made sometime last week. Despite this, Klaus keeps his gaze forwards. If he looks, there is a chance he will flinch, will grimace, will jerk back... For someone who has seen ghosts all his life, Klaus never expected seeing Ben without Serenity would be so difficult. Then again, no one expects their brother to suddenly, and gruesomely, die.

Ben is frowning. Klaus does not turn his head to confirm this, refuses to see more disappointment in Ben’s eyes, but he _knows_. Ben always frowns when they do this.

”Klaus, why are you here? You should be at home.”

Klaus scoffs at that. “That prison isn’t home. No, I believe actual prison may be more homey.” Salem lifts their head, but lowers it again once they realize Klaus is talking to Ben.

If possible, Ben’s frown seems to deepen at his words. “You haven’t been to prison, Klaus.”

”Not for a lack of trying.” He raises the bottle, lazily shakes it in the air. “Cheers.” He pours it back and chugs down the remaining liquid.

Ben grits his teeth, his patience running thinner tonight. Maybe that means he’ll piss off earlier. Klaus can only hope.

”You’re not twenty-one.”

For no other reason than to rile his dead brother up more, Klaus smacks his lips when he finishes. Bottle now empty, Klaus hands it to Salem. Salem runs their tongue along the rim a few times before they carry it away in their mouth to dispose of in the dumpster a few feet away.

Klaus turns his head to meet Ben’s judging gaze. He hums, as if considering his response, then claps. “Do you know what I just realized? You,” he points to Ben, draws circles in the air, “will never be twenty-one. No devil’s juice for Number Six. Shame, if you ask me. I may as well find another to drink in your stead.”

Oh. That does the trick. Anger colors Ben’s expression, his eyes now set in a hard glare. “Screw you, Klaus.”

Klaus looks away, watches Salem climb out of the dumpster with a can of something, likely an expired purchase-by-date beer or energy drink. One advantage of holing up in an alley behind a corner store. He ignores the faint feeling of shame that creeps up the back of his neck from his insensitive words.

Ben huffs before he disappears.

The next time Klaus sees him, this time as he jolts to consciousness in the back of an ambulance, two days have passed.

_Said you'd always be my white blood  
Circulate the right love  
Giving me your white blood  
I need you right here with me_

No one approaches. A battered, broken briefcase burns a short distance from the disturbed man and his raccoon daemon. Both lie on the ground, curled on their sides. Mud and blood cover them. The two fluctuate between mournful, heart-wrenching sobs and anguished, unintelligible screams. No one approaches.

_I'm ready to hope, swing me out of the low  
Wide awake in the glow, can't do it alone  
I'm ready to fly, uncover the light  
Impossible height_

Klaus touches his cheek in stunned awe. He stares at Ben, but his brother’s eyes are trained on his own hand. “How-“ Ben meets Klaus’ gaze for an explanation, but he is just as lost as his dead sibling.

”Klaus,” Salem’s voice, one of excited panic, immediately draws the attention of both brothers. “Did you see them?”

“See them? Do you mean _Ben? Did you see Ben?_ ” Excitement at the possibility replaces his momentary shock and begins vanquishing the doubts racing through his mind. That was _real_. _Ben just touched me._

”Me? Salem saw me?”

Salem doesn’t seem to hear Ben’s questions; whatever happened to allow Ben to hit him, and Salem to see his brother, is apparently already gone.

”Yes!” Salem eagerly nods their head, glances between Klaus and where they last saw Ben standing. Nothing prepares them for what Salem says next. “I saw Ben and Serenity.”

B

e

n

a

n

d

S

e

r

e 

n

i

t

y

.

Klaus thinks his heart may have stopped.

_Said you'd always be my white blood  
Elevate my soul above  
Giving me your white blood  
I need you right here with me  
I need you right here with me, here with me_

He can't bring the cigarette to his lips fast enough. When he finally does, he over inhales in his hurry. Klaus leans forward as he coughs out the smoke. Salem frowns, but doesn't comment. Klaus shakes off the ash before he tries again, this time slower. Nicotine smoke fills his mouth, throat, lungs. The familiar burn warms him.

”Hmm?” He offers Salem the cigarette, but they shake their head. _More for me._

The night’s cooler than usual this time of year. A chill races through them as a breeze blows past. Salem shifts from a rabbit to a bird, something more suitable for their current location. They sit atop the roof level of a parking garage, this one only a few blocks from the academy compared to another they frequent. During weekends no one parks this far up. Here, Klaus enjoys the momentary reprieve he receives. Here, the world is quiet. Where there are no people, there are no ghosts.

Salem lifts into the air, and flies lazy, haphazard circles around him. A memory comes to mind as Klaus watches his daemon. 

”A murder of crows.”

”Murder?”

Klaus gives a short nod, breathes out another puff of smoke. “Ben mentioned it. Some writer called a group of crows a murder.”

Salem lands in front of him. “Why not call crows a flock?”

Klaus shrugs. His gaze follows the cigarette’s ash as it falls to the concrete.

Salem ruffles their feathers. “I’m not a murder, then, if there’s only one of me.”

”Fair point.”

The two of them ease into a comfortable silence. Clouds build overhead and cover the moon. Klaus eventually finishes his cigarette. He grinds and stubs it on the ground before flicking it away from him. It is not long after when his fingers twitch for another. Thunder rolls from somewhere further away.

“Salem...”

They cock their head to the side.

Klaus nearly stops himself from voicing his question, but the words seem to leave his lips of their own accord. ”Do you think they’re alive?” Klaus tilts backwards, stares at the vast sky above. His chest feels slightly lighter.

Salem does not answer immediately. Klaus does not mind. They know. He knows. A month has already past. The likelihood of survival only continues to decrease as time ticks by.

“Have you seen him?”

Klaus shakes his head.

”Then they must be alive.” Klaus wishes he could feel as certain as his daemon sounds. If Dad is right, and Five and Epsilon are dead, there’s not an easy way to contact them. Despite his power, Klaus does not know how to call forth nor send away a spirit. Additionally, there’s no telling how many ghosts exist at any given moment. Searching through every specter in existence would take an indefinite amount of time, not to mention, the last thing he wants to do is seek ghosts out.

Salem shifts from a crow to a calico cat. They move on silent paws to sit beside him. Klaus greets them with a raised hand, ready to stroke their fur. Klaus wonders whether Salem will settle as a feline. They often shift into one during moments like these. Dad would likely take more kindly to an animal with claws and sharp teeth, not that the bastard’s opinion should or will dictate Salem’s form. To a certain degree, Klaus hopes whatever Salem settles as will piss the old man off. He remembers his father’s less than enthused response to Eta’s settled form as a nightingale.

”Maybe they time traveled,” Salem suggests.

”Maybe.” His thoughts briefly drift back to Five and Epsilon. Klaus hopes they are together, alive, free from the academy and Dad. He cares far less on the ‘when’ they are. Suddenly, a realization has Klaus scurrying to properly sit up. “Epsilon.”

Salem shoots their head up at the name, ears perked up in attention. Immediately, concern fills them upon seeing Klaus’ expression. 

Something almost akin to grief floods his senses, but Klaus refuses to acknowledge it. It is not tears he forcefully rubs from his eyes. “Epsilon hadn’t settled. I- we may never know-“ _what nor if_... He rubs his eyes again, does not comment on Salem’s own choked gasp and ensuing sniffles.

Klaus scoops Salem up and holds his daemon, his soul, close to his chest. He wonders if Five is doing the same wherever he is.

**Author's Note:**

> Would anyone be interested in reading more from this au?


End file.
